


Moonlight

by coffeebuddha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/pseuds/coffeebuddha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it doesn't seem possible that the man in his bed is Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kachera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kachera/gifts).



Sometimes it doesn't seem possible that the man in his bed is Sherlock Holmes. Not because he can't believe that it's physically Sherlock, but because it's so unexpected to see him like this. John had always thought he would be a fidgety sleeper, always mumbling or kicking or stealing the covers. Instead, he sleeps like a child, so deep and still that it would almost be eerie if not for the way his limbs are tossed wide, as if he wants to touch every corner of the bed at once. It's a selfish, greedy move, and John shouldn't be as charmed by it as he is. He threads his fingers through Sherlock's hair, his fingers quickly getting tangled in the thick, curly locks, and Sherlock sighs a little, but doesn't move.

Moonlight filters through a slit in the window shade and highlights Sherlock's face. His already angular features are thrown into even sharper relief, and his eyelashes and the tips of his curls look like they've been dipped in silver. There's something otherworldly about him like this, and old stories about changelings flit through John's mind. It should be a silly thought, but somehow it isn't. It's really almost fitting.

John's fingers escape his curls and slide down to trail along the long line of his neck. Sherlock's eyes flicker behind his closed eyelids and he turns his face into John's shoulder. It's a purely human reaction, and it's odd that he seems more human now when he's gilded by the moon like a rogue fairy prince than he does when he's up and about in the daylight. John idly traces a long, thin scar on Sherlock's bicep and marvels at how silent the other man is. It's strange and unnatural.

And sometimes--only sometimes--he thinks he might prefer him like this.


End file.
